


He Only Loves the World For Him

by drawingblinds (breathtaken)



Category: Merchant of Venice - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-03
Updated: 2005-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/drawingblinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I received his letter, my world collapsed about my eyes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Only Loves the World For Him

When I received his letter, my world collapsed about my eyes. All of my concerns were trivial, the lady I would call wife little more than a trinket, her enquiring eyes gaudy jewels set in a visage that to me was cold. All I could think of was Antonio, and the love I had so carelessly swept aside.

It was all finished for him, he wrote. The Jew was to have his pound of flesh, and all because of me. He had sold his body to buy me a beautiful wife, sold everything! How could she ever have hope of compare? The fire in her spirit was never wont to set my soul ablaze. Her wit had not the voice that touched my humours. Her beauty was an alien one that stirred nothing in me. Yet his beauty I could understand.

I hated myself with every fibre of my body, every thought in my mind, every cry of my soul. I had let him make the bond that was to be his death warrant, lulled by his confidence in his own success. I needed a wife, it was true, but I could have chosen  many others rich enough to help me repay all my debts. Yet I had to set on the grandest and most mysterious, the one who would cost me my only love. And what shone through my grief deeper than all was the awful, unbearable knowledge that never again could I hold him, kiss him, touch him... become one with him, where we professed our love bathed in moonlight when the rest of the world was silent and blind. We had had so much, my erstwhile lover and I, and I had barely noticed as from my fingers I let it slide.

Memory is a cruel mistress, and in that time of agony she never left my side. I found myself desperately replaying every frame of our life together - first in childhood, when he was a friend of my father's, but took delight in my company also despite my tender age. As I matured into a man he was always there, one hand upon my shoulder as guide and companion.

Yet there was one subject upon which we could not touch, one thorn in my happiness where really I needed his counsel most of all. I was becoming a man, yet I had no desire for a woman. I knew this was not proper, and yet I did not understand how to change it. Since the death of my father Antonio had become everything to me, yet I had a feeling he would not welcome this admission. I wanted to be normal, perfect for him, but I did not know how.

One day we sat in the garden at a fair noon; and my confusion and need for guidance overcame my misgivings, and so I asked him: "Antonio, think you that man shall always love woman?"

He looked up at me, and too late I realised the mistake I had made. There was fear in his eyes. "Eve was borne from Adam, was she not?" He snapped. "Do you even read the Bible?" He turned away, and I felt lost inside.

For all that summer we were barely parted, yet in his odd silences he would vanish for a couple of days or a week and then say nothing on return. I learned to accept these moods of his, though I did not like them - any time he was away was time wasted, when I could be hearing his voice, watching him laugh, discussing even the most trivial matters. It would oft be past midnight when we retired, and one night, as we parted in the back corridor, I kissed him, once on each cheek, as a friend would. This was not unusual, but he went stiff in my arms; then kissed me full on the lips with the passion of a lover, and suddenly I knew the answer to every question my mind had been asking ever since I was no longer a boy.

We lived blindly in those halcyon days; he was not young, and our love became rich and full even as the many grapes of his orchards. Still we were discreet, never lying abed together till the morning, leaving sometimes to settle to our own pursuits. I ached to see him go, but he never needed to tell me that it was necessary to keep our union alive. And I do truly believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder, as on the nights of his return we came together with such passion and urgency that it was as if we touched for the first time.

Urgent it was indeed, for our happiness was ever shadowed by the knowledge of what must follow. I was young, and must take a wife. There were many eligible maidens around, and not only was it necessary for my status but I also needed an heir. Still I could not bear to think of it and made countless excuses in my head, until one day, almost a year later, when he broached the subject.

I was sitting in a secluded area of the garden when Antonio came up and kissed me. "Bassanio," he said gently, "do you know that you must find a wife?"

I pulled away from him, not wanting to hear this. It was too soon! I was too happy. "How you betray me!" I spat, feeling tears well up in my eyes and willing them not to fall.

A pause. "You know that is not fair." He replied, in the small, quiet voice that meant I had really hurt him. "You are nearing twenty-five, and it must be faced now. I can help you find someone -"

It was hearing that which destroyed my last remains of composure. I could not bear the thought of my gentle, soft-eyed Antonio lining up a selection of cold beauties and telling me to make my choice, when he was all I wanted to choose. I shook myself from him grasp, suddenly furious. "I will none of it. If I must be wed, I will find my own wife, without any help from you! Go, leave me be!" He turned and walked away, suddenly looking ten years older, as I tasted the bitter tears of despair.

I did not see him again until the day I told him of my choice. The fair Portia, a rich heiress of Belmont; she of the three chests, one of which every suitor must choose in the hope of winning her. We were the models of restraint all through that meeting, acting our parts though it hurt inside even to look at him. For even though I had sent him away in anger, our love was deeper still, and I wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and beg him to hide me from the world. The world was all around us though, and on we must go, even though our very hearts should break.

I asked him for money; I knew he would not refuse me. I kissed him once, as a thank you, and as our lips met for the final time I knew inside that this was a goodbye. From that moment till I set sail for Belmont, my heart was hardened, but as he took my hand on the docks I realised that even a heart of stone can crack and split in two.

And thus my story comes full circle; all that remains to say is, that from all the sadness and anger and memories and regrets that made a tornado in my mind, one thought rang true above all others: I shall see him again. And he shall know of my love.

_"I think he only loves the world for him." - Solanio, on Antonio (2:8)._


End file.
